


Pleasantries

by st_aurafina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been running for three days, and there's been no time for pleasantries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleasantries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mfirefly10 (10galacticam)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/10galacticam/gifts).



It's three days of running before Andrea asks the woman her name. Before that, it's just running, and when you're running, you're too close for pleasantries. It isn't until they can get a bit of distance, till Andrea feels safe enough to go pee by herself in the deserted parking lot that she suddenly realises they never did the introduction thing. It's a troubling thought. Andrea tries not to think of it as another example of how civilisation is fading away. When she gets back to the shipping container they're sheltering in, she decides she'll haul civilisation back inch by inch if she has to. 

"I'm Andrea," she says, and sits down to get the kerosene stove going. Someone's holed up here before, judging from the blankets and the empty cans. There's still fuel, though, and a few supplies, enough to give them a few days respite. She pours water from her canteen into a pot and sets it to boil. The tea may be musty and stale, but she was going to get a caffeine fix and she didn't care. 

The woman who has kept her alive, whom Andrea has kept alive, too, says nothing for a while. Later, Andrea will learn that she considers every response this way, as if words were as precious as fuel or ammo. While the woman thinks, she cracks open cans of spam with practised ease. When she hands one over to Andrea, their eyes meet for a moment. 

"Michonne," says the woman, and picks up her fork.


End file.
